The country is ******.

No need to stand on ceremony,
eloquency can take a backseat,
because the country is
F. U. C. K-ed.

The innocence of  your youth yells,
as it is mashed between the ******, gritty, fingers of reality.
The faces that entertained the nation,
now assess success by how many kids they've touched,
rather than how many lives.

Parasitic politicians nesting on their mother,
'de-mock-****',
mocking the masses
with two digits raised,
pass it of as a V.
For victory.
But wash away the Crocodile smiles,
and it stands for something a little less inspiring.
Violence?
Victimizing?
Misers of moneyless citizens,
sitting in,
a generation of tiny Tims,
because the oligarchy hordes,
the power and our sense.

The problem is we allow it.
Yeah the country is ******.
But so are we...
"Yeah but what can we do?"

Well...

Now you're asking the right questions...

I'm no Wordsworth,
but I'm a wordsmith,
and I'm definitely a Wood.
Watching films and comic books are the things at which I'm good.
I'm romantic in my heart,
but my mouth has rational shout.
My namesake is a forest,
so it's no surprise I'm branching out.

Archaic Archeopteryx is my spirit animal,
a fossil in a niche,
not concerned with walking mammals.
Whether lyrics rip sick new tears in reality,
like 666 the beast that's brewing in my belly.
Zack de la rockin', and I'm blocking out my worries with words,
twist a sentence like an arm, feeding my guilt to the birds.
Killing in the name of peace,
please,
killing for that long lost spiritual release.

Pick a part to play in life, but so many covers,
don't concern myself with me, validation from others.
Jolts spark dark with an air of uncertainty,
bleached bones bathing in the acid of society.

Toxic to the touch, lead in the lungs,
a blur in the vision, and a pin on the tongue.
Born of a broken man, bandaged with spoken poetry,
the anti-spider web spun by the flies of normality.
Not born as a ghost,
but destined to become,
gather the people under the sequel of the still warm sun.
Rage planted the seeds,
with rap I watered through,
trimmed the shoots with abstract thought, now watch this flower bloom.

Pick a part to play in life, but so many covers,
don't concern myself with me, validation from others.
Jolts spark dark with an air of uncertainty,
bleached bones bathing in the acid of society.

I feel I've found a home,
in this self-deprecating zone.
Like minded...
and I don't mind likeness.
Kites though,
I do like those.
Soaring without care,
but carefully full of direction,
directly diverging from our reflection.
The zenith of our spirit,
battered but full of its name.
See that's the beauty,
it still fights,
and takes flight,
though it struggles all the same.
Let it fight.
Let it stumble.
Let it rise from the ashes like a phoenix.
stronger for it's struggle.
My spirit will be a kite.
No lightning strikes my tether.
My spirit will be a kite...

...and it will defy the whims of weather.

I'm a nervous wreck,
my anxiety gets so high these days,
I can feel it in my neck.
Pulse. Pulse.
Beat. Beat.
Nervous as ******-Doo.
As if a monster roamed the street,
to turn me into stew.
But my monster is my self,
I'm my own worst enemy.
He keeps me shackled up,
so the world can't see true me.
I guess it's fine though,
I've become an introvert of late...
I still like an adventure,
but it's usually on my plate.